Work It Through
by OtakuEntertainmentInc
Summary: Their relationship didn't spring up overnight. It wasn't a case of sharing or seeing a tattoo and suddenly everything appeared fully formed. It took time and no small amount of patience. And to have each other, it was worth every second. T for possible innuendo.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Based off the song 'Little Talks' by Of Monsters and Men, this is a story (probably so very different than what Arakawa-san had in mind) of how the relationship grew between Roy and Riza. It didn't just spring up overnight; it took time. So sit back and read on. We're going to take a little trip, you and I._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Work It Through**

_I don't like walking around this old and empty house  
So hold my hand, I'll walk with you, my dear_

The house was silent except for the occasional creak of timbers settling, wind making hushing noises against the panes of dusty windows, or the muted footsteps of the young woman wandering the rooms. Brown eyes scanned surfaces of furniture, or the carpets on the floors, seeing it all, but none of it registering.

A separate footstep scuffed the ground behind her as she moved to exit the living room. "Hey, there you are."

Riza stopped, turning to face the man who had addressed her. She said nothing, watching as he crossed the room toward her. The long blue overcoat was gone, leaving him in his uniform pants and a plain white shirt. Dark eyes watched her carefully as he approached.

"Are you all right?"

She shrugged. "As well as can be expected." Turning her gaze away, she looked around the room again. "I'm just . . . thinking."

"No, you're not." His smile was almost genuine; there was too much sadness hidden behind it to be truly real. "I know you too well; that's not your 'I'm thinking' face; that's your 'I'm worrying about things' face. C'mon; out with it."

Like his smile, the glare she shot his way hid too much sadness to be authentic. "There are a lot of things I'm worried about," she said coolly. "I'm worried about the house and what's going to happen to it now. I'm worried about myself, and what's going to happen to me." She bit her lip for the barest second, trying to stop the words and not succeeding. "And I'm worried about you because you're going headlong into a war zone."

"I told you not to jinx me," he muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I'm going to have watch myself over there, I guess."

"I guess so." She wrapped her arms around herself, moving to sit on the squashy cushions of the couch behind her. "It's a strange feeling around here now . . . knowing that someone died in this house."

Roy moved closer, but remained on his feet. "Better here than in some hospital." He regarded her thoughtfully. "Is that one of the reasons you don't want me to go? So you won't be alone with some sort of ghost?"

Her smile was humourless. "In a way, I lived with a ghost for years. But this time, I know for sure that I'm alone." The curve disappeared from her lips. "I guess that's what it is. I hate the thought of being by myself. One person in a house that's too big."

He was silent for a moment, pondering that. "With me away, my aunt's got an empty room on her hands," he suggested. "I could probably convince her to let you stay for a while."

"Thanks for the offer . . . but no." She had apparently come to some sort of decision, because she sat straighter, her expression determined. "This is just one of life's challenges. There's nothing to do but find a way through it."

"That's the girl I know." Smiling, Roy dropped into a seat beside her, and reached out to ruffle the short hair at the back of her head; she ducked away from his hand, prompting them both to smile. For a moment, brown eyes met black, the gaze holding for several moments longer. Abruptly, his smile vanished, his eyes going to her back. Her back, that only the night before had been bared to him.

Riza shifted to take the hand that had just been teasing at her hair. "Now who's worrying about things?" she said quietly. "I told you; I'll find a way through this. I'll be all right." Her fingers squeezed his. "And so will you."

He nodded. "I guess I have to believe that."

For a moment, she pressed her lips forcefully to his, her bangs tickling against his forehead. A second later, Riza pulled away, her cheeks flushed, but her voice steady. "There. A good luck charm, against the times I've jinxed you." She let go of his hand, looking away to the floor.

Roy just stared. ". . . Wow." They sat in silence for another too-long moment. "I wasn't that worried about it."

"I know."

"Okay." Silence. "So . . . if you knew I wasn't worried about it, then why did you kiss me?"

With a noise of annoyance halfway between a huff and a snarl, Riza pushed to her feet and stormed toward the door. "Forget it. It's late; I'm going to bed."

He let her go. Climbing the creaking stairs, Riza fumed silently at herself. _You've always had better self-control than that, what were you thinking, pull it together! You can't, you can't, you can't . . . ._ The slam of her bedroom door was purely cathartic, an outlet for the anger. Crossing to her bed, she snuggled into the warm comforter without changing into her pajamas, still too angry to sleep.

She listened to his footsteps coming up the stairs, heard them pause at the top . . . and then continue. Seconds later, the door to his room opened and closed, and that was the end of it.

* * *

_The stairs creak as I sleep, it's keeping me awake  
It's the house telling you to close your eyes_

He came awake at the soft click across the room, the sound of someone trying to open a door quietly. Floorboards made quiet squeaks as his visitor slipped lightly across them to his bedside; Roy watched through half-open eyes until they reached out to touch his shoulder.

"I'm awake, Riza." The silhouette before him jumped. "What do you want?"

". . . My mother once told me that I should never go to bed angry." Her voice was soft. Withdrawing her hand, she folded it behind her back with the other and stood straight. "So I want to apologize. I'm sorry for what happened earlier; it was an impulse and I should have kept it under control —"

"Whoa; hold on a second." He sat up, arms resting on his bent knees. "You didn't hear me complaining. It was —"

"Actually, I took your 'I wasn't worried' as a 'Please never do that again,'" Riza said curtly. "If that's not a complaint, I don't know what is." Arms folded, she paused before looking away. "What happened to your shirt?"

Roy looked down at his own bare chest, lip twisting in a humourless smirk. "Started going without it at the Academy. When they turf you out of your bed at five a.m. and tell you to dress as fast possible . . . a sleep shirt is just one more thing to get in the way." He glanced guiltily her way, before reaching for the shirt he'd discarded earlier. "Here; if it bothers you —"

Her hand touched his wrist before it could reach the starched white cotton. He looked up to find her smiling faintly. "You don't hear me complaining."

He smirked at the comeback, settling back to his previous position. "Touché. So is that all you wanted? To apologize?"

Riza shrugged microscopically. "That, and I just couldn't sleep. Every time the stairs creak, my eyes open." She paused. "And those stairs creak a lot. They did that before, but like I said, the house has a different feel now."

"I've still got two more nights after this," he said. "Think you can adjust in time? I don't want to leave you here if —"

"You don't want to leave me here, period," she cut in for the third time, though her tone was mild.

"Would you stop making this difficult?" Roy growled, shooting her a glare. "It's not so wrong to accept help, you know, especially from a friend." He froze, tensing at the word, then swiftly backtracked. "Or . . . you know, whatever it is we are."

Canting her head to one side, Riza regarded him almost curiously. "You're saying . . . we're something other than friends?" Her hand when to her left shoulder, where her fingertips would just be touching the edge of the tattoo. "I mean . . . I can see why. I just . . . I suppose I never thought about it. About us being . . . whatever it is we are."

He was nervous, now. This was it; make it, or break it. Roy's voice was soft in the dark as he said, "What do you want us to be?"

"Ourselves." Hand still on her shoulder, Riza settled onto the edge of the bed. "You know my secrets, and I know yours; that ought to be grounds enough for us to be comfortable around each other. If anything, we're . . . partners." She gave a halfway genuine laugh. "Partners in secrecy . . . alchemy . . . . I don't know. As long as neither of us forgets the other . . . I think that's enough."

Roy smiled, leaning forward to press his palm against her cheek. His fingers threaded into her hair. "I'll tell you one thing, partner," he murmured. "There's exactly zero chance of me _ever_ forgetting you."

Much to his dismay, Riza pulled away just milliseconds before his lips could touch hers, but he hid the smile behind a cocky grin. "What? Suddenly, you don't trust me anymore?"

"I trust you," she said soberly, reaching up to flick her bangs out of her eyes. "I have to, with the secrets I've given you. But when it's just you and me, I'm not sure I can trust myself." She looked down, unable to keep eye contact any longer. "I'm sorry."

He might have felt his heart crack a little, at the seams. "It's all right," he lied. "You've just gone through a major shock, and to force anything right now would mean it was exactly that: forced. You said yourself, we need to be able to be ourselves around each other." He reached out again, this time to chuck her gently under the chin; her eyes came up to his in time to meet a smirk and a wink. "When you're yourself again, look me up. I'll be waiting."

Riza smiled hesitantly. "I'll hold you to that, Mr. Mustang." Her eyes flicked to the second pillow on his bed, then back to him. "In the interest of working toward becoming myself again, building up my own trust . . . would you I mind if I stayed here? With you?"

The cracks closed just a little. "I'd like that very much, Miss Hawkeye."

_Some days I can't even dress myself  
It's killing me to see you this way  
'Cause though the truth may vary this  
Ship will carry our bodies safe to shore_

* * *

_Don't get nervous, guys. Updates are soon to follow._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Get your tissues out. Get that pillow ready to have the stuffing hugged out of it. This is going to bring on the feels. Can't say I didn't warn you._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

**Work It Through**

_There's an old voice in my head that's holding me back  
__Well, tell her that I miss our little talks_

For the longest moment, all he did was stare at her with that horrible feeling of 'Dammit, not her, too . . .' sinking into the pit of his stomach. He knew that his expression showed how much seeing her here — in this environment, in this wretched hellhole — hurt him. He knew, without her saying so, that she was here because she'd followed him.

Hughes was unnaturally quiet, eyes going back and forth between the two people just standing and staring at each other. Roy could practically hear the gears turning in his friend's head, beginning to fit the pieces together. Riza had addressed him by name without being introduced. She'd asked if he remembered her. They _knew_ each other.

At last, Roy cleared his throat roughly. "Hughes, can you . . . can you give us a minute?" His eyes shot his friend a dark look. "I need to have a chat with another old friend of mine."

"Sure," the golden-eyed man said casually. "I've gotta check on the rest of the men in my squad anyway. I'll catch up to you in a while."

He turned away, sidling off without any of the usual quips or comebacks he might have fired off at seeing his friend knocked speechless over a girl. Roy watched him go for a moment before turning his attention back to the blonde waiting beside the campfire.

". . . Mind if I join you?"

"I don't see why not."

He stepped into the circle of light cast by the fire, and settled into a cross-legged seat in the sand. Riza simply knelt, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Neither spoke: he knew she was waiting for him to make the first move, but his mind refused to generate any sort of comment besides 'What the hell are you doing here?' He had to be at least marginally more polite than that.

Finally, he stirred slightly. "You got your ears pierced?" he said, glancing sideways at her.

Reaching up, Riza's fingertips toyed with the small silver stud in her left ear. "About eight months ago. A friend of mine talked me into it."

"Looks good on you." He laced his fingers together so that his hands wouldn't curl into fists; he was having to try _very_ hard to not to be angry with her. "This friend: you met at the military Academy?"

Instead of answering, Riza sighed quietly. "You were never any good at making small talk; just say what's on your mind and get it over with."

Roy gritted his teeth. "You are, without a doubt, the second-biggest idiot I've ever seen. The only person who's a bigger idiot than you is me, because I thought for a moment that you'd be content to just sit back and wait while I did what I have to." He flung a hand out to the side. "But no, you just come running after me. I should have anticipated this: I know you well enough to expect that you wouldn't stand idly by. You just had to stick your nose into this mess!"

Despite his efforts to keep control of his anger, it was building up. Roy struck the sand with a muted _whump_. "_Dammit_, Riza! All those letters we sent back and forth, you never mentioned what you were up to. Now I know why! What the _hell_ were you _thinking_?!"

Her voice, in contrast to his, was calm. "If you must know, I was thinking that while your dream is something that very much needs to become reality, there's no way you'll succeed on your own. You need help, Mr. Mustang, and I intend to give it to you."

"You've helped me already," he snapped. "You shared your father's research."

Riza shook her head. "Not good enough." Those brown eyes lifted to meet his gaze, and behind the stone-faced mask she wore — the killer's eyes he knew that he had as well — all he could see was an immense sadness. "Not nearly good enough, considering what you're using it for."

Roy's throat closed up in guilt, restricting his voice to little more than a whisper. "I know . . . ." Looking down at his hands, he stared at the white gloves. All at once, an itch built up under his skin. "Dammit! What the hell —" Yanking the material off his fingers, he tossed it down in the dust.

She was watching him, her expression restricted to her eyes. He knew her well enough to realize that he was worrying her; he must have looked like a man losing his mind. In some ways, that was probably true. Dragging a hand across his face, Roy dropped to his back on the sand.

". . . I'm sorry." Rubbing at his forehead, he kept his eyes shut, so that he wouldn't have to look at her, at the haunting dark circles beneath those whisky-brown eyes. "I'm so sorry. For everything. Anything and everything."

Her voice was soft. "I won't lie to you and tell you it's all right." Roy peeked through his fingers at her; Riza was staring blankly into the flames. No, not blankly: there was a hint of sympathy there. "What I will say is that things will eventually get better. This won't go away, but it can't last forever. And when it ends, things are going to get better. Maybe not all the way, but just enough."

The skin around her eyes tightened, and for a moment, he thought she might cry. No tears fell. All she said was, "They have to."

His hand fell from his face, dropping limply to the grit at his side. ". . . I like it when you talk like that."

Riza's head whipped around so quickly, Roy could have sworn he heard her neck crack. Even alone, with no one within earshot, her eyes were wide at the comment, at panic that he was talking himself into a trap. Her lips were parted slightly in total shock; once he noticed that, all he could think of was pressing her to the sand and letting his own lips do the apologizing instead of his words.

"I talk like that because I need to give myself something to believe in," she said at last. "Something to work toward. I'm glad it makes you happy, but —" She gritted her teeth. "This can't be what it was. Two years ago."

For the second time, the words she said cracked his heart at the seams, this time just a little further apart as the old scars opened. "There was a time you said you wanted to believe in my dream," Roy said quietly, still watching her.

"I did. I still do." Riza still seemed like she was on the verge of breaking, but a tiny smile curled the corner of her mouth. "I need your dream to come true in order for mine to do the same. So promise me you're not going to give up."

He didn't owe her anything. Her father, yes, but this slip of a girl with the tomboyish blonde hair? No. Nothing. She had some nerve, asking him for a promise when she —

Roy's heart nearly stopped. When she had _every right in the world_ to ask him for such a thing. Without her, he was just another soldier, fighting and dying in this forsaken wasteland. Mostly dying, judging from the number of times he'd used Flame alchemy to save himself. Without seeing that tattoo, without decoding that information, without her _volunteering_ to give him that information . . . he was nothing.

"I . . . I promise." He knew his eyes were wide; from that look in her eyes, she knew what he'd just realized.

"I'm glad." Turning back to the fire, she seemed to relax a little. "For the record, I didn't ask for this promise for something to hold over your head. I genuinely want you to succeed."

He smiled, sitting up and shaking sand out of his hair. "Even if that had been your intention, I wouldn't have minded. Someone's got to keep guys like me in line, right?"

"Damn right, they do!" Jogging out of the shadows, Maes dropped down beside his friend, lopsided grin already in place, and golden eyes already flicking back and forth between the two of them. "So how does this work? Do I make the introductions for you, or the other way around?" His face turned serious as he looked to Riza. "If he's done anything to you that he needs to be smacked for, tell me right now and I'll do it."

_Soon this will all be over, buried with our past  
__We used to play outside when we were young  
__And full of life and full of love_

* * *

_Some days I don't know if I am wrong or right  
__Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear_

"Roy . . . ?"

Something clenched around his heart at the way her voice broke halfway through saying his name. Shrugging out of his tan overcoat, Roy draped it around her before pulling her close against his chest. "Ssshhhh, it's okay. It's okay. You're okay."

"But . . . are _you_ okay?"

"I said sshhh."

A smile curved those pretty lips, though the eyes above them were glassy and half-closed. "War's over, _sir_. Right now, I've got a choice . . . go back and graduate the Academy . . . or get out while I can . . . . I don't have to . . . take an . . . ." She paused, swallowing hard. "Take an order from you . . . if I . . . don't . . . ." The words 'want to' faded into a quiet whine at the back of her throat. Roy watched in horror as her eyes rolled back in her head, only the whites exposed.

"Riza!" His hand cupped her cheek, patted it gently. "Don't you dare . . . Riza, come on . . . ." His breath froze in his lungs for a split-second, long enough to send ice spreading through his chest. "Don't make this my fault, please . . . ."

Riza took a shuddering breath, her eyes opening halfway again. "'m fine." Her fingers curled around his forearm, gripping with surprising strength for someone so close to passing out. "I'm okay . . . . just dropped off for a second . . . ."

Roy held her tighter, careful not to touch the burns. "What was I thinking?" he muttered, one hand protectively on the back of her head. "This was insane. This wasn't _right_."

"Had to be done . . . ."

"I don't care." His lip twisted. "Friends don't burn friends' backs."

Her hand moved from his arm to his shoulder. "Or . . . whatever it is we are." He heard her smile in her voice, as she leaned against his chest. "After this . . . we're something more than friends. There's no way around it."

Shifting so that he could look her in the eye, Roy smiled as much as his cracked heart would allow, feeling the raw edges of the seams inch a little closer together. "Still partners, huh?" He watched her nod. "Riza Hawkeye, you've got yourself a deal."

_Though the truth may vary, this  
__Ship will carry our bodies safe to shore_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: So this chapter should make up for last week's; definitely not a completely sad one this week._

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

_Don't listen to a word I say  
__The screams all sound the same_

One year, twenty-three days, since she'd made that promise to watch his back. To shoot him in the back, if necessary. There was no one he trusted more explicitly than Riza, except perhaps his aunt. Then again, the bond he had with her was worlds different than the one that had formed between himself and the brown-eyed blonde that, more often than not, trailed him from half a pace behind like a quiet, deadly shadow.

It had taken time, for both of them, to adjust to life among the living again, instead of life among the dead and potentially-soon-to-be dead. East City was a good place to recover: the closeness of the city with the sleepy undercurrent of the country. Looked upon as a backwater, but not an unpleasant place to be stuck.

For all his talk and strategic maneuvering, Roy didn't mind being here. Aside from the occasional terrorism incident, it was peaceful. After weeks, the dark circles that had been constantly under his eyes in the warzone had faded, as he finally caught up on sleep. Nightmares had continued to plague him for several months after his return, but even those had faded to only occasionally. He was beginning to feel human again.

He and Riza never spoke of their time in that wasteland, much less his last act of violence there. She refused to; he simply noticed the signs that all was not as she pretended it to be. There had been the occasional time that he caught her rolling stiff shoulders, reaching up to rub gingerly at the left one, or sitting straighter than usual to ease aching muscles. And that was the reason he stood in front of her of door tonight.

The moment she opened it and saw him, Roy was positive that she was going to slam the heavy wooden panel in his face. Her face slipped into that carefully blank expression she had come to master as she stood straight, folding her hands behind her back. "Hello, sir. Is there something I can do for you?"

Not exactly polite; not entirely hostile either. Roy kept his hands in his pockets, shrugging lightly; he was off-duty, and there was no way he was going to be as formal as her if he didn't have to be. "A guy can't stop by and have a conversation with someone?" he said flippantly. "Makes you wonder what the world is coming to."

Riza didn't smile, but she did step aside to allow him through the door. Once it was safely closed behind him, she folded her arms. "And just what would this conversation you have in mind entail?"

"It's not much of a conversation; more of a question," he admitted, keeping his back to her. "You didn't sleep last night. Why?"

The dark circles under her eyes had vanished too, by the time she arrived in his office. However, every so often, they made a return appearance, and Roy was tired of pretending not to notice.

"I have my reasons."

"To hell with reasons!" Finally, he turned, not so much glaring as trying to ask her to tell him what was wrong. "This is something you should be able to talk about!"

Riza's eyes flashed in response. "It's just insomnia. I'm fine."

He took a step closer, taking full advantage of the seven inches of height he had on her. His voice dropped in both pitch and volume as he said, "Insomnia caused by what?" When she didn't answer, except through the aversion of her eyes, his expression softened. "Riza . . . . Your back still hurts, doesn't it."

She flinched the tiniest bit at his use of her given name, before bringing herself back under rigid control. "It's to be expected," she said quietly, almost to herself. "The muscles took damage and they take time to heal completely. The doctor warned me about that; said it could take up to eighteen months for it to go away, and that I might have episodes of pain if the muscles were put under high stress —"

"Stop." Lips compressed into a thin line, Roy closed the gap between them. One hand on the back of her head, he pulled her close into a hug. "That's all I needed hear on that. Tell me what I can do to help."

"Sir —" She pushed against his chest, to no avail; he wasn't letting go. "This is completely out of line for you. You shouldn't be —"

"I know full well what I should and shouldn't be doing," he said tersely. "Right now, none of that matters, and it isn't going to matter until you give me some way of helping you, since I got you into this problem in the first place."

Riza's teeth were gritted as she clearly strove for the patience to deal with him. "I _asked_ you to do it."

"That doesn't make the tiniest bit of difference! I still did it, and nothing is going to change the fact that you're in pain as a result." He ducked his head, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder. "Riza, please . . . give me something to do about this so I won't feel so guilty."

For a long moment, she was completely still, her hands at her sides and her shoulders high and tense. Roy held his position, his eyes shut tight as he waited.

Finally, she lifted one hand, settling it high on his back and beginning to move it in slow, gentle circles. With a sigh, so softly he almost didn't hear her, she murmured, "You idiot . . . ." He held his silence. "Do you remember the time during your apprenticeship when I caught the flu?"

"Yeah. Your father had shut himself in his study, alone, and wouldn't let me in even for lessons." Roy smiled half-heartedly. "I don't think he even knew you were sick. I didn't have anything to do, so I stayed with you."

Riza nodded, her nose brushing against his shoulder with the motion. "Out of those three days, there's one instance that sticks out in my mind. Sitting on the bathroom floor feeling absolutely miserable, you sitting behind me, and doing exactly what I'm doing now."

After a moment's hesitation, Roy stood straight, looking at her with slight apprehension. "Is . . . that what you want from me now?"

She gave him a small, not-entirely-willing smile. "If you're so bound and determined to have something to do, then I wouldn't say no to it." Her hand moved to grasp his upper arm. "But you need to stop beating yourself up over this. It's in the past: I survived, I'm not handicapped by it in any way. I'm not another faceless victim of your flames, so stop treating me like I am."

Almost of their own accord, his hands lifted to her face. Words failed him, leaving him feeling helpless with no way to express himself. Riza was watching him, her hand tightening on his arm as she realized what he was about to do, her eyes widening just slightly. But the cracks along his heart wouldn't let him close the gap completely.

Finally, he found the presence of mind to mutter, "Sorry . . . you said things couldn't be what they were." His hands dropped to his sides again. "I don't know what I was thinking. I —"

Faster than he could blink, Riza lifted slightly onto her toes and leaned close, her lips pressing against his.

"Stop," she said, once she'd pulled away. Her tone was somewhere between irritated and upset; she shook her head, her eyes on the floor. "Just . . . stop. I know what I said."

Roy stared at her, scarcely believing what had just happened. ". . . Then why did you . . . ?"

Shaking her head slowly, Riza let go of his arm and took a step back. "I wish I knew." Her eyes came back to his with a bewildered sort of smile. "Have I jinxed you against anything like last time?"

Last time. Nearly four years ago, sitting on the overstuffed couch of her father's house. "No, you haven't." He offered a smile of his own. "You could make a case that I started it. I've already broken fraternization regulations once tonight."

"So we're at one-for-one. The question is whether that trend is going to continue." Her brown eyes on his face, Roy was surprised to see something in them that he'd thought had long since died out: uncertainty. It was backlit by the determination she poured into everything, but it was still there.

His chest ached a little, hands lifting to her face again. The ring finger on his right hand happened to land on the side of her neck, her pulse thrumming rapidly under his touch. He swallowed hard. "Only if you want it to."

"And only if you want it to."

Her lips were dry against his, making the skin seem fragile and paper-thin. Eyes closed, Roy was relying on his sense of touch to gauge her response. Her jawbone, delicately curved under his fingertips, seemed just as frail as her lips. Hell, everything about her just seemed so da** breakable.

Roy jumped as a pair of hands brushed his sides. When he pulled back, Riza was smiling sheepishly. "Sorry."

He shrugged. "It's all right. You have the right to push me away if I go too far."

For the first time in far too long, those brown eyes smiled at him. "I wasn't pushing you away, Roy. Being kissed with your hands at your sides is just incredibly awkward. I'm sorry, if it makes you that nervous —"

She broke off as he shook his head. "Do me a favour . . . . Say my name again?"

One blonde eyebrow lifted. ". . . Roy."

This second kiss was more forceful, as he reminded himself that this was Riza Hawkeye: tomboyish, dependable, every bit as steady and reliable as her aim. She might be breakable in some ways, but not by his lips on hers. Her hands settled on his waist again as she accepted the kiss, and returned it in kind, sealing the cracks around his heart once and for all.

_Though the truth may vary, this  
__Ship will carry our bodies safe to shore_

* * *

_See you guys next week. ^^_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: . . . That was considerably more than a week from my last update. Whoops. O_O Sorry, you guys, this took me so much longer to write than I anticipated. Here's hoping that the quality of the chapter is enough to make up for the wait!_

_I do not own FMA._

* * *

_You're gone, gone, gone away,  
__I watched you disappear.  
__All that's left is a ghost of you._

He sat staring at the door, long after she'd left, long after he'd pulled the ingeniously hidden phone number from its place in the base of the white king. Roy turned the rolled paper in his fingers, his chin propped in his free hand, wondering when he'd see her again. Not soon enough, to be sure.

With a sigh, he pocketed the slip of paper, and began to return the chess pieces to their places within the case. His fingers paused on the white queen, before he lifted it to eye level.

_Should have just kept my big mouth shut,_ he thought to himself. _You'd never tell me so out loud, but I'm sure you were thinking it. I've let you down._ His thumb brushed across the smooth, painted surface. _But, I swear I'll make it up to you. Somehow_.

He moved to put the piece into the case . . . and paused. Certainly, it would seem odd if anyone noticed a piece missing, but then again, who would be entering his office in the foreseeable future that would open the case, let alone care? No one.

Roy tucked the white queen into the pocket that housed his pocketwatch; the irony of the two symbols together did not escape him as he set to work. After all, he had to keep this office running, to give his people a place to come back to, whether they were a pawn, bishop, knight, rook . . . or a queen.

A half-dozen partially thought-out plans to get his people back kept dancing at the edges of his mind, no matter how he tried to block them out with the work in front of him. He knew he had to play the obedient dog for now, that the time would come when everything could be as it was once again. This just wasn't that time.

Still, it would be easy for Riza to simply walk into Bradley's inner office one day and shoot him at his desk — no. If Bradley fell, one of the other Homonculi would only make good on the Führer's threat. He couldn't lose her; to lose her would be to lose himself.

His pen paused on the line of a payroll form, his mouth turning down at the corners as he pondered the information that needed to be entered. There had been a set of codes for this, but he'd never been the one to input them. He knew _how_, but doing so had always been Riza's job.

Roy made a soft 'tsch' noise. "I guess she really was my babysitter," he muttered, sitting back in his chair. "Can't even get through work without having her here to help me." Getting to his feet, he crossed to what had once been her desk — what still _was _her desk, he reminded himself — and began going through the drawers. She had those codes memorized by now, perhaps she'd left the written copies in case —

"_Yes_," he whispered in victory, taking a file from the second drawer from the top on the right-hand side. The words "Payroll Codes" were written on the front in Riza's neat penmanship. He flipped through it briefly, making sure it was the one he wanted, before setting it aside and returning to the drawers. If she had left that behind, what else was hidden in here?

Nothing of any real interest, it would seem. A few more files, some unused notebooks, a pen that he remembered had run dry three weeks ago, and a paper listing the personal contact information for their entire little group.

Settling into Riza's chair, Roy glanced about just to make sure he was unobserved, that no one had snuck in while his attention was otherwise occupied. Reaching under the desk top, into the leg space, he triggered the hidden switch that only he and Riza knew about, listening to the telltale _click_ that followed.

Riza's desk had been altered through alchemy to include a hidden drawer. Sensitive documents, personal items, even extra clips for her guns were kept in here by both her and Roy. He hadn't opened the drawer in months, but now . . . if there were any place she might leave something, it was here.

And sure enough, alone in the desk were her favourite handgun, fully loaded (of course: a 'just in case' leave-behind, if he ever needed it), and a photograph.

Roy couldn't help but smile as he pulled the photo out from under the weapon. It was at least six or seven years old, taken by Hughes in Ishval, very stealthily if the content was any indication. The three of them, their backs to a huge sandstone rock, late in the day. Hughes wore his trademark wide smile, Roy a slightly smaller one as he looked down at Riza, who had fallen asleep against his shoulder.

Sitting back, he studied the photo. He remembered this: Riza had come off perimeter guard just an hour earlier — sixteen hours of lying perfectly still against the sand, watching for any approaching intruders — and had been snagged by Hughes to spend time with himself and Roy. All it ever consisted of was the three of them talking and finding comfort from the horrors of war in the presence of friends. Dog-tired as she was, she had lasted approximately forty-five minutes before beginning to drift off, not even noticing when her head dropped to Roy's shoulder.

Dangerous though it might be, Roy folded the photo and tucked it into the breast pocket of the shirt he wore underneath his jacket. If he were caught with this, he had no doubt that whoever discovered it would request an investigation into the dynamic between himself and his Lieutenant, but it was worth the risk, just to keep this whisper of her presence close.

Regretfully, he pushed himself out of the chair, gathered up the file of codes, and returned to his desk. Enough stalling, enough feeling sorry for himself. The sooner he finished his work here, the sooner he could go home and continue work on his plans to counter whatever Bradley and his 'Father' had in mind.

_Now we're torn torn torn apart  
__There's nothing we can do  
__Just let me go, we'll meet again soon_

* * *

Had anyone else called him at half past midnight, waking him from a sound sleep, he would have growled something appropriately snarky into the phone and hung up. However, long experience had taught him that it was not wise to give such a response to Madame Christmas, no matter what time of day or night she called. Thus, when she suggested heavily that an immediate visit to her place might be worth the trip, he obeyed without question.

"You realize what time it is?" he mumbled, once he realized who was on the other end of the line.

"_I'm well aware of it,_" was the unconcerned answer. "_I'm also aware that you need to get down here. Now._"

With an almost resigned sigh, Roy forced himself to sit up, rubbing wearily at his eyes. "Am I at least allowed to ask why?" he said, knowing full well what the answer would be.

"_Nope. Don't worry about dressing nice; just get here. Understood?_"

"Yes, ma'am." Hanging up, he tossed back the blanket and got to his feet, managing to stagger only slightly as he headed for the dresser across the room. Vaguely, he wondered what his aunt might have up her sleeve . . . and then promptly decided not to try and guess. With as much cunning as Chris possessed, it was better that he give up while he was ahead. He would never be able to figure it out.

He made it to the bar in record time, leaving his car parked out front. Sure, it was blatant advertising of his location, but no one knew of his connection to Madame Christmas — he'd gone to great lengths to be sure of that — and Bradley would likely assume he was simply here to drown his sorrows.

Pushing open the door to the empty and darkened barroom, he paused just inside the threshold. Dark eyes darted from shadow to shadow, suspicious of the lack of light, sound, and people. Perhaps Bradley had had a change of heart, had decided that Roy was no longer worth keeping alive — no. No one knew of his connection to the Madame, he reminded himself.

"Hello?"

"About time you showed up!" Appearing in the doorway leading from the back room, Chris wiped dust from her hands with a damp towel. "You certainly took your time. What happened; forget the route here?"

Crossing the floor, Roy slid into a seat on a barstool, smiling vaguely. "I wanted to make sure I was awake enough to drive. Four months, and I'm still not used to all this work. My hours are getting longer by the day, and it's running me ragged."

Shaking her head, reaching under the bar, Chris pulled out a glass tumbler, followed by a bottle. "Yet you still manage to look smart. That takes some doing." Pouring the whisky two fingers deep into the glass, she slid it across to her nephew. "Here; that'll give you a pick-me-up."

Roy snorted quietly. "Thanks. It'll be a miracle if I sleep tonight." Taking the glass, he sipped rather than toss it back all at once, letting it burn slowly down his throat. It turned his voice husky as he asked "So what's so important that you had to drag me down here in the middle of the night?"

Leaning on the bartop, Chris flicked a finger at the stairs leading to the upper levels. "I've got an information exchange set up for you upstairs." She smirked. "I've been keeping an eye on you, Roy-boy; you need some good news, and this exchange has it. Room 307."

One eyebrow lifted in good-humoured skepticism, Roy downed the rest of his drink before getting to his feet. "I go to the office and work, I try to sleep and you give me more work . . . . Where's Elizabeth when I need her, huh?" Turning away, he missed the widening of his aunt's smile.

"One more thing," she added, when he was halfway to the stairs. "Leave your keys; you can stay here tonight, but I'll move your car so it's not so noticeable. Don't want your reputation being sullied any further than it has been already."

"Sure." Taking the keys from his pocket, he tossed them as he started up the polished wooden steps. "Don't wait up."

The climb to the third floor was a familiar one; he'd done it countless times growing up here. He still remembered which stairs to avoid so that the creaking wouldn't wake the the girls, remembered which stair was slightly higher than the others to avoid tripping on it, and not to push on the decorative moulding at the top of the third-floor railing, lest it fall off.

Three-oh-seven was the room he'd had to himself as a child and teenager, and was still the way he'd left it years ago. Chris wasn't sentimental about it, not by a long shot, but kept it aside for him just in case he ever needed someplace to rest his head for the night, whether he was just too tired or too tipsy to drive home.

Or whether he was to meet with some as yet unknown source. Taking a deep breath, forcing his mind into a businesslike set, he turned the knob and swung the wooden panel open.

Across the room, a figure turned from in front of a postboard, from studying the scribbled-upon pages and photographs tacked there. Roy's breath caught in his throat, his lungs forgetting their purpose, let alone how to perform their usual action. Heart hammering against the walls of his ribcage, he forced himself to step inside the room, closing the door behind himself. He swallowed hard. "When the Madame said she had good news for me, I didn't think it would be this," he said softly.

Riza smiled faintly, her hands folded in front of her. "You say that like it's a bad thing," she murmured.

"He** no." Moving across the floor in three strides, he gathered her to himself, burying his face in her loose blonde hair. "I can't tell you how happy I am to see you."

"The feeling is very, very mutual," she replied, her hands against his shoulder blades, holding him close in return. Roy's hands tightened on the anonymous off-white jacket she wore, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. "You weren't followed, were you? I'm sorry, but you realize I have to ask —"

"Shh, it's okay. I know." Leaning back, he flashed a smile. "You know, I was just telling the Madame that I needed to see Elizabeth. Didn't think I'd be getting the opportunity so soon."

In the gloom, he caught the barest glint of light from the window on even white teeth as Riza smiled fully. "Hmm. It's too bad that you're probably too busy to plan a fishing trip. She'd enjoy going with you."

"Hmm. Too busy, and too tired." Brushing his nose against her forehead, Roy drank in the smell of her, re-memorizing it after four months apart. "I take it the Madame dragged you out of bed and down here as well?"

"I'm afraid so." Nuzzling close against his chest, she tucked the top of her head underneath his chin. "The phone started ringing, and that meant Hayate started barking. I couldn't have ignored it if I wanted to." Her hand rubbed gently across his back. "When I got here, she said that she was helping to get me relaxed a little; she knows how high-stress a situation this is. It was . . . 'heavily implied' that I would be spending the remainder of the night here. With you, it would seem."

Roy jerked a thumb toward the corner. "Bed's over there. Even if Selim finds us, it's not like fraternization charges will matter much at this point." He hesitated. "Unless you care —"

Her finger touched his lips, quieting his worry. Riza smiled drowsily up at him. "You know I don't," she said quietly, before nudging him toward the mattress. "Come on; I want at least another four to five hours sleep before I have to report to the office tomorrow."

_Now wait, wait, wait for me  
__Please hang around  
__I'll see you when I fall asleep_


End file.
